


Consecration

by Hopetohell



Category: Bad Times at the El Royale (2018)
Genre: Breeding, Exhibitionism, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28547856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: Would you like it, pretty thing, if I staked my claim in front of all these fine people? Little bird, I’ll clip your wings; I’ll grip you by your jesses.Billy Lee, by firelight, from below. It’s all part of the game.
Relationships: Billy Lee/reader, billy lee/you
Kudos: 8





	Consecration

Isn’t he just a sight, that Billy Lee, walking around looking like Jesus, with his open shirt and the chain that catches on his pebbled nipples, with the soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s a picture, a sweet and soothing presence til he tightens the leash and you know he’s got you _hooked._

_Body and blood,_ he says and he licks his fingers; _I’ll give you mine and you’ll give me everything. I’ll leave my mark on you, pretty thing. I’ll brand you here—_ his hand slides smoothly up your inner thigh, sweet and tender and you know it’s part of the game he says he isn’t playing but he _is— I’ll brand you here, so everyone can see it. And I’ll leave my seed inside you where it can be our secret, at least for a little while._

_Would you like it, pretty thing, if I staked my claim in front of all these fine people? Little bird, I’ll clip your wings; I’ll grip you by your jesses and I will fuck your throat til you cry. Would you like that? Nobody can argue that you’re mine if they see you choking on my cock._

And he certainly likes the idea; he pulses against you hard and ready where he crowds you against the old oak. Your back is all splinters and those scrapes will ride your thoughts tonight and tomorrow and every night until he deigns to have you again and

_Ah, ah, ah, sweetheart. Your mind is wandering. Am I boring you? Should I stop?_

But _no, please, please don’t stop, it’s just,_

It’s just that following these threads is so fucking overwhelming, trying to tease out what he really means from all these tangled scenarios. He knows, of course; he smiles in his halo of firelight and he tells you _suck me. Right now. Give me everything and you’ll be forgiven._

_Take from me, he croons as you’re sinking to your knees. Slake your thirst and I-- Oh, that’s good. That’s good. No, don’t look at them, pretty thing. It’s just you and me-- and I will consecrate your throat; there. There you are. There you are, pretty thing; you play the game so well. If you could just see yourself. But the longer you take, the more they'll stare, sweetheart. Bring me off fast, and I'll fuck you slow in the big house after; I'll take my time with you. Just you and me, I promise._

And Billy Lee is all hard planes; his angles are chiaroscuro-harsh with shadows from the firelight. He gives you the gift of bracing yourself with your hands on his thighs, the muscle unyielding under your touch, jeans open just enough to get his cock out, to brush the head over and then past your lips. When your eyes drift shut, as they must-- he's so goddamned _thick,_ and this is another gift he gives to you, that he holds himself still to let you work this out on your own-- he murmurs _oh sweet, watch me. Don't you dare look away. I want to see your eyes when I come down your throat._

It's a challenge, a struggle, a lesson. It's him waiting as you take what you want, what you _need_ as he's nearly gagging you with his length; he watches you watching him and takes in the surreptitious stares of his followers at the edge of the firelight; this is not for them, but they still can observe, can learn, can take his lesson to heart. _Follow. I'll never give you more than you can handle. If you struggle with it, if you whine when it's too much, remember that weakness leaves the body in the form of pain. Let it out. Struggle with it now, so that you may become stronger. So that I can make you stronger._

He is close already, so close; his eyes are hooded as he watches himself disappear into your mouth and down your throat. He watches you watching him and he pulses, nearly there, still talking, words rolling sweet and soothing into one ear and out the other side. Doesn't matter, it's as much for him as it is for you, this endless stream of good and just like that, sweet thing and _oh, very good. Very good, I'm nearly there._ And that's it, that's the impetus you need; his face is hazed through your teary eyes when he comes hot and bitter but the game isn't quite over yet; it's not til you lick him clean and tuck him away that Billy Lee draws you up to stand with him, leaning heavily with your head against his chest, cunt pulsing with the need to be filled. 

And his voice is low and sweet, all honey, all promises of dark pleasures and bruises around your wrists, of stars winking through the gaps in the curtains, of the sinuous roll of his hips as he consecrates you in another way, as he takes ownership. He speaks and his smile still doesn't quite reach his eyes, but if you turn your face toward his chest you don't have to know the difference.


End file.
